Where We Are, and Where We Have Been
by Jamison Leigh
Summary: <html><head></head>Teen!chester/Wee!Chester- Dean gets sick, leaving John and Sam  and Mary in alternating chapters  to take care of the eldest Winchester boy. Dean 18  Young Dean 3  Sam 14</html>
1. And so We Begin

Dean sat in the Impala, silently shivering. It was February, and they were in the middle of Maine. John was huntin' some ruga-something. Sam was curled up in the back seat, fast asleep. John drove, not saying anything. Dean shivered again, this time harder than the previous shiver. He wasn't feeling very well, if we're being honest. He felt congested, his head was full and heavy, and his throat burned uncomfortably. He cleared it and swallowed. A wince, followed by a dry cough thanked him for his efforts. John looked at Dean, and then reached out to place a palm on Dean's appearing to be sweaty forehead. Dean tried to move away from John, but realized a little too late that he was buckled into his seat.

"A little warm, kiddo," John slyly said to Dean. Dean grimaced. "I'm fine," he grunted with an uncomfortable layer of congestion and an unhealthy rasp. John smirked, "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England." Dean coughed, and cleared his rough throat again. "Just sleep, we'll be there soon." Dean hunched down and quickly fell asleep.

Dean awoke to Sam calling him. "What, Sam?" Dean groaned. "We're here. Come on out." Dean coughed, harder than before. Then he got out of the car. He sniffled and walked into the motel room. John was attempting to start research. "Feel better?" John asked. Dean shook his head miserably, as he fought back coughs. He immediately was rewarded with a wave of dizziness. John walked over, and helped Dean to a bed. "Fever's a little higher. Rest up, kiddo." Dean coughed when he hit the pillow. John ruffled Dean's short hair.

"I'll be back, Sammy. Watch out for your brother. Make sure he rests." Sam nodded. Dean sniffled, his nose twitching He sneezed twice, and sniffled wetly. Sam got a roll of toilet paper. "Just until Dad gets back," Sam explained. Dean nodded, and lay back against the headboard. He blew heavily, coughing just as heavy. Sam's brow knitted with concern for Dean. Even at 14, he knew that Dean was sick. Dean looked like complete crap, and he probably felt even worse. Dean hated being sick and when he did get sick, it took him out completely for days on end. The reason had to be that Dean hated to rest or take it easy. Dean was constantly on the move, had been since infancy (according to John). The only times he was listless was when he was hurt, sick or upset—which made sense.

Dean had fallen fast asleep by the time Sam finally pulled away from the daydream. That was another sign altogether. Dean could pull 3 all-nighters in a row and still be on the go. Sam realized then that Dean acted abnormally when he was sick, tired, hurt or upset. Or maybe that was when he was truly himself because he simply didn't have the energy to restrict himself.

Sam tucked Dean in, and lay down on the other bed next to his brother. Within minutes, he was also asleep. John came in to find both boys passed out at opposite ends of the room. Dean coughed in his sleep, and flipped onto his stomach. The cough was getting worse. Sam was curled up, a tattered book lay forgotten next to his face. Dean was on his stomach, legs sprawled out like a starfish, snoring softly through his completely blocked nose. John unloaded the bags of groceries while his boys slept. Tissues, Robittussin, Nyquil, decongestants, cough drops, and food. He'd also gotten popsicles because he knew exactly how raw Dean's throat would be. He even bought some Airborne for Sammy and himself. Digging around in the old medical kit ('Ole Reliable' Dean liked to call it) for the thermometer, he sat down on Dean's bed when he found it.

"Hey dude, let's get some meds in ya,"

Dean flipped over, and coughed heavily. John swiftly slipped the thermometer in Dean's mouth. Dean scowled but kept it in his mouth. "If it gets any higher, we're goin' to the clinic," John ordered. Dean nodded, sniffling liquidly. His breath hitched, and he sneezed threw times in the crook of his elbow. "Can I have a tissue Da—"he started to say as another sneeze quickly stole what he was trying to say. Dean snuffled miserably. John handed him the whole box. Sam shifted, but stayed asleep. "Alright, kid, take these and go back to sleep," Dean nodded again; his head throbbed with the movement. He bit back a groan. He swallowed the cold medicine, and slid back under the covers.

John carded his hand through Dean's sweaty hair, and then got up to lay down the salt lines. Once done, he got a few of his research books and sat down on Sammy's bed. Unable to focus, he closed the big textbook and grabbed the book Sam had been reading. "_Catcher and the Rye_…?" John flipped it open and read. Sam scooted over subconsciously to make room for John, but stayed completely asleep.

John remembered one of the first times Dean had gotten sick, way back when Mary was still around. All the things John did now was taught to him from Mary…


	2. Mommy's Little Angel

Where We Are and Where We've Been

Part Two

**A/N: I always like to get my first chapter out, THEN do my author note. I'm not quite sure why. But, anyways—thanks for all the alerts, favoriting and reviewing y'all have done over the past couple of days. I truly do appreciate it—I work so hard during the week and to have time to write something is extremely rare. Keep reviewing and I'll keep posting.**

**Also, all you **_**What If…**_**fans, I'll try my hardest to get the next Chapter written and uploaded soon. Sorry for the wait.**

**On with the show!**

Dean: age 3

Dean was a normal, three-year-old boy. He had friends, he played with toys, and he even threw the occasional tantrum. He'd usually been an extremely healthy kid, no few illnesses and none that could be considered "severe". Dean usually just got sidelined by the occasional runny nose or light cough. Nothing major. Until now.

Dean sat down on the floor of his preschool. His throat hurt, his nose was runny and he was sneezing a lot. He sniffled and leaned against the cool wall. He'd never felt this yucky before.

"Dean, are you alright?" asked Miss Julie, a preschool teacher of Dean's. He nodded lethargically in response. She lifted a brow, unconvinced. Before Dean could react, a cool palm rested on one of his rosy cheeks.

"You're running a little fever, honey."

"I don't feel good," he whimpered, tears making his sick voice quiver. Julie lifted Dean up, and carried him gently to the nurse's office. She didn't like the heat coming off the sweet little boy one bit.

After a few minutes, the nurse dialed Dean's mommy and said to come get him. Needless to say, Mary Winchester wasted no time to get to her sick son. Within minutes, she came running into the building—five months pregnant belly and all. She walked in to where she was told she'd find Dean.

"Mrs. Winchester, he's right through here." The nurse said, smiling wanly.

Mary walked into the curtained off room, and her heart throbbed with a mother's hatred to see her son hurt or sick like this. She brushed her hair back, and felt the warmth of his forehead. His glazed eyes opened slowly, and he started to cry after a few minutes. "Aw, sweetheart," She lifted him up, and whispered soothing words in his ear. "My poor baby," She took Dean home, and tucked him into his bed. Dean sniffled, and sneezed into his hand. Mary got a tissue, and gently helped Dean clean himself up.

Dean's green eyes looked into hers with such sadness. "Mommy…"

***EIGHTEEN***

Dean whimpered, and flipped over. He coughed, more rough than previous coughs. His body ached more now, the gentle throbbing he'd had before he went to sleep had morphed into an overall explosion of pain. It hurt to cough, it hurt to sneeze, it hurt to sniffle, and it hurt to blink.

John was jolted awake by the sound of Dean's cough, and immediately went to his son's bedside. Dean was paler than before, and extremely sweaty. "No…no…" he cried, still somewhat asleep. John suddenly realized after a few minutes that Sam was sitting next to him. John ordered Sam to get some damp washcloths and some more of that cough medicine. For once, Sam didn't argue. He simply did as he was told.

"Deano, come on. Let's see those green orbs of yours," John coaxed gently. Sam came back in, his hands full. "Dad, let me try." John nodded, desperate and knowing the bond between his boys. "Dean? Wake up for me? Please? You're scaring me, man."

Dean groaned, cracking an eye.

"Sabby?"

"You're burning up, jerk. Take some medicine." Dean tiredly held out a palm.

Sam was kind of concerned at the lack of response from his big brother. Sam slyly slipped a thermometer in Dean's mouth before he could try and fight it. Dean scowled sleepily at the blurry image of his brother. "101.7, Dean. Way to try and cook your brain." Dean shrugged. "It's a taledt." Sam helped him slide back down under the covers.

"I'm taking him to the doctor tomorrow." John said, mind clearly made up. Sam nodded, in total agreement. "Good." John laid back down on his and Sam's bed. Hopefully, Dean would sleep peacefully now.


	3. Quiet Musings in a Quiet House

Chapter 3

_**Still don't own Supernatural, the Winchesters, Eric Kripke aka God or anything. Blast…**_

**AN: Thanks for all the reviews, alerts and favorites. Please keep them comin', and for all those who simply read the fics PLEASE REVIEW. I LOVE REVIEWS. THEY ARE WONDERFUL. Sorry about the rant *sweat drop* **

**Dedicated to yurisnow (Lucky Naruto08) who's going through a really rough time right now. Love you, Bobby. **

"Did Dean get sick a lot? You know…before?" asked Sam, looking up at his dad. They'd been woken up by another coughing fit of Dean's, and had decided to stay awake since Dean might need them again. The medicine John had bought before was complete crap.

"No, not too often. He got really sick when he was a newborn—croup. Then, barely a sniffle until he was three. He got the flu which turned into pneumonia, your mother hardly left his side. There she was, five months pregnant with you, and she just kept on truckin' like nothing was different with her."

Sam nodded, and then bit his lip. "Did _I_ ever get bad sick?" John smiled tiredly and ruffled Sam's messy mane of chestnut brown hair. Sam's lip turned up a little. "You got five ear infections before you were six. You had to get tubes in your ears. Remember? They came out a couple of years ago. You also ran really high fevers when you were four months old. You cried and cried. Your mom wouldn't let anyone near you—except for Dean." Sam smiled. 'My mom really did love me.' Dean had told Sam for years that Mary Winchester had loved him with everything she had. But he really didn't believe it. Now he kind of did. Sam looked away, to the floor. John casually slung an arm around Sam's shoulder.

"She was excited. She really wanted to see you grow up."

***EIGHTEEN***

John came into the house, not seeing Dean or Mary. It was also too quiet. When Dean was born, the house became loud. Sounds of a crying newborn baby turned into a loud, wonderful toddler who loved to laugh. Dean was constantly on the go. When he learned to walk, he learned to run. Dean was born to music, and was constantly in movement. Mary was just like that. She was constantly on the go throughout the day, never taking the time to slow down. She also loved to laugh, especially with and at Dean. "Mary?" he called, breaking the eerie silence.

"Up here, John," Mary responded. It sounded like she was in Dean's room. It made sense, John decided. "Sorry I'm late," John said as he made his way up the stairs. "There was a customer giving Mike a hard time." He found Dean's door open, but the light was off. Only his little teddy bear nightlight kept the room slightly lit. He heard gentle humming.

He walked in, and saw Mary gently caressing Dean's head. She glanced up, worry in her eyes. She pressed a finger to her plump lips and slowly got up off of Dean's floor. This was no easy feat, considering the slight baby bump she'd developed recently. She kept humming as she tiptoed out the door. "Hey, I'm just glad you're here," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around John in a warm hug.

"Is he okay?" John asked, worried at how listless Dean was.

"He's got the flu, I think. He said earlier that his tummy hurt and he won't eat anything. Dr. Floyd said to bring him in soon. He'd save a spot for him." John and Mary just stood there, holding each other and feeling the baby's slight kicks together. Mary smiled slightly, when she heard a weak and raspy "Mommy…"

**AN: Sorry it's so short; it's been a rough couple of weeks. What with everything going on with yurisnow's dad and my grandma. My muse has been kinda like Castiel lately—disappearing constantly. I'll try to get the next part up soon. I apologize in advance for the wait. Twilighter.**


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